


Failboats in Love

by Guardian_Kysra



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Ichihime Week 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Kysra/pseuds/Guardian_Kysra
Summary: Collection of one-shots for ichihime week 2017 using prompts/themes proposed on the ichihime tumblr.





	1. Failboats in Love

August 14  
Prompt Theme: Mutual Pining / Warm colors

AUGUST 14  
Failboats in Love  
by Kysra  
She’s wearing yellow when she leaves for university – hundreds of miles away – with her eyes misty and cheeks flushing so prettily, he wants to just swoop in and kiss her. But they aren’t dating (yet), and he hasn’t told her how much and completely he loves her (yet . . . So much he’s virtually numb with it whenever she’s within arm’s reach . . . or closer, like when she’s in his thoughts (meaning every.fucking.second.))  
And he wants to be – dating, that is. And telling her – point blank and transparent – everything. He’s tried – several times now – with a “Wanna grab dinner, Inoue?” or “How about a movie this weekend, Inoue?” or “Heard about that new cafe that just opened downtown, Inoue?” Only to be answered in that ridiculously enthusiastic way of hers before being punctured by, “Let’s invite Tatsuki-chan, Chad, Uryuu, everyone.”  
If she were anyone else, he’d probably think she was giving him the brush off; but it is her, and he has it on pretty good authority that she’s just as stupid for him as he is for her. Of course, said authority has told him time and again that he is a fucking idiot and to just spell it out for her already because Inoue will not understand anything less than an all out confession.  
He’s not really sure how he hasn’t spelled it out with all the vows to protect, breaking all her other suitors, and invitations, but he’s apparently doing something wrong and it fucking needs to change because he’s fucking sick and tired of putting his feelings on the shelf and wasting time when life – he knows – is too fucking short.   
Still, he sighs watching her train pull out of the station, fists tight and heart aching, he’s going to see her during break in a few months. He’ll absolutely do it then.  
****  
Months later when she steps off the train, the crowds so totally obscure her vision and perception, she immediately begins chanting to herself, orange hair orange hair orange hair because it is her favorite thing, the most visual thing that sets him apart (but not the only thing). And after a few moments, she catches sight of his sunshine fringe and the blank space of his forehead just a hop, skip, and jump away, hones in on it (and his spiritual pressure), and cries out, “Kurasaki-kun!”   
He’s not the only one there but – and she’s internally so ashamed to admit it, he’s the only one that really matters (right now). Because it’s been months of wondering if he was eating enough, if he’d gotten into another fight, if he was okay with the hollows still roaming around Karakura, if Soul Society had come for him again, if he’d found a girlfriend (and she would be happy if he did even if it killed her), what was he doing, how was school, did he like it, try any new foods, etc. The questions she asks herself daily, hourly, by-the-minute were endless.   
Because if anyone deserves to be happy it is Kurasaki-kun. No matter what that means for her.  
She stumbles through the milling crowd of departers and embarkers, gasps on a scream just a little when she loses her footing and finds the asphalt underfoot coming up to meet her; but a familiar strong arm, warm and steady, wraps about her middle, lifts her up as easily against an equally strong and steady frame. “Oi, Inoue. You okay?”  
She nods, sweating and blushing because it’s always like this isn’t it? Her smile is exaggerated and seemlingly carefree as she turns to him and just . . . Stops.  
His smile – for all of its rarity – has always had that effect on her.  
***  
He is going to fucking murder Keigo.   
Inoue was in his arms, pliant and warm and just there, all lush curves and softness against him like he wants her, damn it; and then “Are you hungry, Inoue? We could go to that burger joint you like just a few blocks away.” And he can see it in her eyes, the sparkle that is birthed there, the intake of breath as she glances over to their friends standing by when Tatsuki – bless her – bows out with a “Sorry guys, I have plans.” While Ishida pushes up his glasses, eyes closed and, “I still have studying to do, but we’ll catch up later.” And Chad, “I have to get ready for work.” Then Fucking-Keigo breaking in, “I’m there! You treatin’ Ichigo?” (Because, apparently, Keigo didn’t get the memo, text, twitter, facebook message, WHATEVER).  
Mitsuiro only looks slightly put out with his brunette side kick, sighing and swiping something on his phone, “Count me out. Maybe tomorrow.”  
She looks somewhat put out for just a moment but beams up at him anyway, still in his arms, where she belongs, safe and sound and beautiful with her pink cheeks, cotton candy mouth and bright eyes. “Well then, shall we, Kurasaki-kun? Asano-kun?”   
Then it’s forty minutes of thanking everyone for coming and hugging and promises to catch up later – she’ll be in town for two weeks after all, that’s lots of time (Not enough) before he, she, and it (Keigo) make their way to the burger place.  
He sits and listens to them chatter back and forth, answering when she tries to pull him into the conversation; but mostly, just smiling dopily at her (he catches his reflection in the windows a time or two) when she isn’t looking and wondering how the hell to approach this on-going problem.  
Maybe Chad was right. He really needs to brush up on his communication skills.  
***  
Orihime has been in Kurasaki’s room before, and she had been fine (read: she had gotten so accustomed to being there she could act with some semblance of calm and normalcy); but that was in his house with his family which was unbearably different than being in his apartment where she is completely aware it is just the two of them in a small space with no chaperone nearby or anyone who would care that it is just the two of them in a small space. With his bed and his things and his shower (that smells like him all over) and him and her and this inherent intimacy of being alone with a door and a lock between them and the outside while he pours her tea from his own tea set and serves her food from his own tray and Kami she hopes she isn’t shaking outside as much as she is inside.  
Because it’s only a few days she gets to spend with him, with her friends, before going back to university, and he specifically asks her to his apartment after having dinner with the gang. “I need to talk to you about something.” Like he did that time after attending Rukia-chan and Renji-san’s wedding.   
Scarier words had never been spoken (Well, okay, yes, there had been like in Hueco Mundo, in Soul Society, and the King's Realm) . . . by Kurosaki-kun, and her mind was racing a mile a second trying to guess at what he could have to say that he would have to say it there in his apartment, just the two of them, alone. Because what if he wants to tell her he has a girlfriend or Soul Society has called on him again and she couldn’t follow . . . or maybe he has decided he wants to leave all that behind and there is no room in his new normal life for her? Could that be it? Or something like it? Something like, “Inoue, I can’t see you anymore. Please leave me alone.”   
No.   
She shakes her head to herself, hands grasping at the material on her knees. Kurosaki-kun is too kind, too appreciative to do something like that to nakama. Letting out a breath, she tries to calm her thoughts. It probably isn’t as serious as all that. She’s just being silly; and he has that smile – the smile she thinks of as hers – when he glances her way from the kitchen every now and again.  
Sipping her tea, she lets the knot in her brain unwind. Yes. Nothing to be worried about. He probably just wants to check in with her, make sure she’s doing okay by herself so far away. That would be more like the Kurasaki-kun she knows and loves. He is just being a good friend.  
Just a really good friend. Her cup clinks as it reaches its saucer, but the sound barely registers for the thump, thump of his feet across the floor.  
She musters her usual bright smile, unable to deny the flutter in her stomach every time she looks into his face. “What did you want to talk about, Kurasaki-kun?”  
He settles across the small table, clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck. That he’s nervous makes her nervous; because it’s not a usual look for him. If there’s a problem or challenge, he’s generally so calm, so self-assured, so fierce. She wonders if she’s ever seen him nervous before. A tremor runs through her body and she hides her hands again, waiting.  
“I think . . . There’s been a misunderstanding.” His voice goes from uncertain to concrete as he eyes stray from her then lock onto her face. The focused attention thrills her. The words coming from him crushes her.   
She’s reasonably sure her face is a burning inferno at this point. Red and hot and tell-tale in the worst possible way. And then the thought comes, Does he know? Is that what this is about? He waited for her visit to let her down easy? Give her the “I’m honored you feel so strongly for me but I only see you as a friend. Please move on with your life” speech she had been dreading for years?  
Bowing her head, she takes a moment to steel herself. When he’s finished, she’ll smile and thank him and say all the right things. Crying can be done later, in private, where he doesn’t have to see her heart break. When she feels a little more stable, a bit stronger and confident (but only just), she lifts her head again and meets his gaze just as focused and intense. “Misunderstanding?”  
“Yes.” For just a moment, he actually fidgets and it’s so adorable she nearly lets loose a hysterical giggle even though it feels like someone is squeezing the life out of her chest and her legs want to run from what’s coming. Then his eyes are boring into hers like she’s a battle he needs to win. The look inspires another complex round of discomfort tinged excitement.  
“Look, Inoue. I thought after Yhwach we sort of understood where we were going, but maybe I was wrong? I’m not great with words or feelings or any of that.” He stops, visibly gathering himself then sighs, chuckling softly, the smile returning and blooming in his warm brown eyes. She smiles back, gently, tentative because it’s Kurasaki-kun and if he’s smiling then everything is going to be okay. “I’m probably fucking this up, aren’t I?”  
Her heart stammers when she begins to have a crazy, unbelievable, never-in-a-million-years, he-must-be-possessed-by-the-blue-men epiphany of what this is actually about. “I-I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Kurosaki-kun; but I’m sure you aren’t . . . m-messing a-anything up.”  
His smile somehow deepens, becomes warmer – almost glowing, and she can see the moment he makes a decision like an audible snap of fingers or the sudden flash of a bulb. “I love you, Inoue. I’ve been trying to ask you out since we got back, since graduation, these last two weeks . . . years.”  
Oh. Oh my -- Certain she misheard through the roaring in her ears, she blinks and pauses and waits and watches his face, the shape of his lips as he speaks, the way his eyes take her in and make her so much more than she is with just a reflection. And then – for some odd reason – she’s laughing and crying at the same time, her words spilling over and onto themselves in clumps of sobbing mess.   
He seems to understand, grins just that much sharper, with humor and affection and all the things she’s never let herself comprehend as he scoots over to her side of the table and cradles her close to his heart, enfolds her, offers her everything she ever wanted but didn’t think she could hope for.  
And somewhere in the midst of it all, she thinks she was brave enough to choke out, “I love you too, Kurosaki-kun. I love you.”  
***  
She’s wearing a peach silk blouse when she leaves for university (again) with her eyes misty and cheeks flushing so prettily, he wants to just swoop in and kiss her (so he does). It’s just the two of them this time and he still doesn’t quite believe that they’re dating, that she’s his and he’s hers (officially) and that his complete and total love for her seems to grow with every glance, touch, and kiss. The feeling is so intense sometimes (like now) he’s virtually numb with it whenever she’s within arm’s reach . . . or closer, like when she’s in his thoughts (meaning every.fucking.second); but that’s okay because now he knows she feels exactly the same way for just as long, with the same intent.  
And he doesn’t want to waste another second. Wants desperately to tell her – point blank and transparent – everything. He hasn’t tried yet, though. Doesn’t want to rush her, scare her, or run her off (never mind never forgiving himself, his father would murder him in his sleep and make it look like an accident with Tatsuki helping dispose of the body). But he knows he won’t be able to hide it for long when she’s away, too far for him to protect and defend. And hold (he’s grown sort of addicted to the feel of her body resting against his) and caress (her hair feels like cool linen sieving through his fingers when they watch Laugh Hour together or get to . . . other things) and kiss (her lips are sweeter than he imagined) and talk to (because phones, skype, and all that other shit is just second best to being able to see, hear, and feel her in real face-to-face time).  
He’s seriously wondering how he will not lose. his. shit. until December.  
She grins sort of goofily up at him when they part, and If she were anyone else, he’d probably think she was laughing at him; but it is her, and she knows him so well she probably already knows what he wants to say. Of course, maybe he’s wrong. He waited so long to tell her how he feels, maybe he should just let her know, just as clearly, what he wants from her . . . for them and the future. He’s STILL not really sure how he hasn’t spelled it out before with all the vows to protect, breaking all her other suitors, and invitations, and confessing but this is kind of a big step – one she may not have thought about yet but he has in detail . . . because he’s fucking sick and tired of putting his feelings on the shelf and wasting time when life – he knows – is too fucking short and he wants to spend the rest of his with her (it won’t be enough but he’s goal oriented enough to make damn sure he’s with her in Soul Society too).  
Last calls are made. She begins to pull away, opens her mouth to say “Good bye, Kurosaki-kun” or “See you later, Kurosaki-kun” or “Take care, Kurosaki-kun,” and he can’t fucking stand just the anticipation of hearing it in her voice so he edges in, “Marry me.”  
She blinks, mouth painted a lovely blush “O”, staring at him as bodies jostle around them – noisy and invasive, but he doesn’t care, staring down at her, silent and waiting and hopeful.  
Blinking again and licking those tempting lips, she presses a little closer, grips the material of his shirt at his arm pits. “D-did I just . . . A – are you s-serious, Kurosaki-kun?”  
He nods grimly, still unsure of her reaction, still unsure of why the fuck he blurted it out like that – like an order rather than a proposal (Rukia was right – not a romantic bone in his body). “After the school year’s over, or after graduation if that’s too soon. I don’t care as long as I know you’ll be my wife someday in the near future.” And the mother of my children. Grand-mother to my grand-children. He was determined to do what it took to convince her he was worthy as her husband.  
If they stand here any longer, the train will leave without her; but she doesn’t seem to care as she seems to come back from whatever daydream his words sent her to, throwing her arms about his neck and squeezing into his body to the point it’s slightly painful. She mumbles something against his neck, it vibrates against his skin – a tattooed syllable, beautiful and heated so that it melts him from the outside.   
“Yes.” She reaches up on tip toes to breathe – blessedly to the point and transparent - into his ear, “Yes, Ichigo-kun. I want to marry you too.”  
The train leaves without her and people are beginning to stare, but he’s too busy being happy and kissing her to care.


	2. In the Dark (My Secrets will Come to Light)

AUGUST 15TH  
Prompt/Theme: promise / monochrome

 

Ichigo comes in through their bedroom window. Hollows still run loose in Karakura but not as many as before, not as strong or as intense; but he’s tired and wants nothing more than to spoon against his wife and sleep.   
The moon is full tonight and filters everything in white and gray and black where usually – in the day – it is muted neutral with strategic splashes of color – her favorites and his. She’s sleeping on her left side, facing the window where he still crouches low, watching – an equally monochrome sentinel, his zanpakto unusually heavy on his back.   
An involuntary gentle smile forms his lips. Before Orihime would stay up until he returned, sometimes joined him on the hunt; but she’s so tired now, he can see the pull of it around her face, drooping her eyes, dogging her steps. The pregnancy is new to them – a total surprise but a welcome one – and her body is working hard to adapt to the changes making a human requires even as she works at her bakery. He doesn’t begrudge her the quiet welcome.  
Even in sleep, she is still smiling – a faint, little upturned line but still there – and he wonders what she is dreaming about. One arm is thrown over a hip, a hand vaguely curved over the place where their child – no more than a bean really – rests. They aren’t telling anyone yet, it’s too early and they both want to exercise an abundance of caution with the forces at once and still at work in their lives. Keeping that secret has been relatively easy as she has only experienced slight nausea and overwhelming exhaustion – both easily explained by the grand opening of Orihime’s bakery six months ago and its growing popularity.   
The transition from married couple to expectant parents has been unexpectedly smooth in his opinion. They never really discussed children before, not out loud; however, if he thinks about it, they never really had to. They could just read it in each other, the same way they had known without saying anything that they would be together in the end, the same way that each knew with primal certainty that the other would be there for support and defense and protection. And, just like that, here they are.  
Silently, he approaches the bed, settles on his knees to contemplate the curve of her cheek. She tries to hide it, but he knows she talks to the baby as she goes about her day, singing and explaining and describing the people he will meet, the family and friends that will be waiting for her arrival. Sometimes it’s hilarious to listen to.  
Sometimes . . . sometimes it breaks his heart.  
He tried to talk to Orihime about her parents once when they were building the intimacy that was always implied between them and commitment was no longer a question but a promise. She had been forthcoming with what she could remember which wasn’t much. It had shocked him to find she had scars - not many, but the few were enough to have his blood boiling and his fists aching to punch – from the abuse she had suffered as a toddler.   
The next day, he had visited Sora’s grave with many offerings, more thanks for the bravery and determination and love it took for a young man like him to take his baby sister away from that and raise her to be Orihime, and one more promise to always, always honor that courage, that pivotal decision and mettle by protecting her with his life.  
When they had found out Orihime would become a mother herself, she had withdrawn from him for a few, horrible days though she insisted she was happy, so so happy, Kurosaki-kun. It took two of those days to realize that she was thinking of her own mother, of how her mother had viewed her and treated her. Orihime confirmed this when they started talking about the baby, about how they might be as parents, about how things would change.   
I want to be a good mother. She had said, soft and meek but also with steel behind the words, reflected in her eyes. I know you will be, he hand answered before taking her into his arms and rocking her the way her mother never had.  
Now, in Shinigami garb and bathed in moon and night, he places his hand over hers over their child and whispers, “I promise you. You mother and I will do our best. We’ll protect you and love you and never keep this crazy shit from you because we both know how that kind of secret turns out.“ That was something they had both agreed upon in their first conversations about how they would raise their children: No secrecy about his or her heritage. “And when . . . if we can’t be there, you will have so many people – human, Shinigami, Quincy, all of it – that will have your back, that won’t hesitate to teach you, defend you, and keep you safe.” He chuckles. “You are going to have so much fun.”  
His eyes stray again to his wife’s serene face, so alive in spite of the gray light. “And don’t worry about your mother. I vowed to protect her a long time ago. I’m strong enough to watch over both of you.”  
Orihime sighs in her sleep, and he can’t help but smooth his fingers over the softness of her cheek, raking into her hair. When she settles, he rises and returns to his body next to her in the bed. He feels more awake than he did when the alarm sounded, more alert and alive. His arms wraps around her middle and pulls her close, his hand finding hers against the still-flat of her stomach.  
“I promise.” He mouths into her hair before letting the cadence of her breath and the calming strains of her reiatsu lull him back to sleep.


	3. The Sound of Your Laughter (Makes Me Whole)

AUGUST 17TH  
Prompts/theme: laughter / cool colors

Orihime loves it when Ichigo laughs. She waited so long to hear it. blue, violet, and white  
The Music of Your Laugh (Makes me Whole)  
by Kysra  
Winter blows in the way it does every year growing bluster and soft skies. She wants to lie in it like a lovely, crystal pool, but knows her joints will lock and bones will creak with the cool air and settling winds. Smiling anyway, she hums softly as she watches her hands – no longer creamy or smooth but wrinkled and thin-skinned with fine violet bloodlines and dappled over with liver spots. The smile widens.  
It’s been a good, long life she’s led.   
Laughter sounds from just outside the slightly opened front door. Her great-grandchildren are probably climbing Ichigo’s body, bringing him to the snow. Orihime giggles a little, knowing this life will be longer still, hopes it will be followed by similarly long lives with all the people she never thought would be hers.   
The cookies are done and hot as she pulls them – slowly, so much slower now, I don’t want Ichigo to worry about my back again – from the oven. She straightens just as carefully but pauses in calling the rabble-rousers.   
Ichigo is laughing.   
Orihime loves it when Ichigo laughs – even more than his usual grimace and frown. She waited so long to hear it that she thought – perhaps – it no longer existed. She can no longer remember the circumstances of the first time he had let out the joyful sound, she had been so shocked and pleased and awed that he would trust her with that gift, somehow sweeter than the simplicity of his smile.   
And though she’s heard it more and more often over the years, felt the vibration of it when they were pressed close, seen the response from their children and grand-children and friends, the sound of it is never taken for granted, always brings up in her a sense of blessing.  
Edging over the door, she slowly rubs her hands over the crisp blue of her apron and opens it widely, winces at the sharp bite of the winter air. Ichigo’s hair has long since paled to white but strikes no less of a striking figure in the snow. She smiles and giggles as he lays beneath a pile of equally enthralled children – two girls and a boy – as they play.  
Ichigo is laughing, face pink and brown eyes glowing with love and happiness.  
And Orihime feels nothing but warm.


End file.
